


Control

by honestys_easy



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: American Idol - RPS, Established Relationship, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-19
Updated: 2007-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestys_easy/pseuds/honestys_easy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right now, Chris needs those comforting words from me, for me to be the strong, supportive boyfriend.  But I just don't know if I have it in me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

My mind was tunnel vision the moment we arrived home after the performances. Chris made a beeline for our bedroom, his head down and avoiding eye contact, while I realized it was the first time I had ever considered the Idol apartments “home.”

I took in a deep sigh. It might be the last time, as well.

Media reactions, tomorrow’s results show, even my own glowing reviews, were all pushed to the back of my brain so I could focus on the one important issue at hand: Chris. I had no idea what he was going through – and I prayed I never would – and to be forced to experience it on national television…

I paused at the door to our bedroom, the light from the crack underneath the door suddenly uninviting. What if he didn’t want my comfort? And even if he did – even if he needed it more than anything else, could I give it to him? Would my words of sympathy seem hollow, my touch insincere?

Sanjaya’s voice drifted through the hall from the common room. His voice went up on every last syllable in his words, like he was continually asking questions. “And, he totally doesn’t even live in the same area? Like, he’s just compensating for a really crappy night? And I don’t understand what the big deal is?”

My jaw clenched, the grip of my hand on the doorknob growing tighter. I thought of taking evil, violent actions against that flippant tone. I thought of ripping him to shreds for saying such things.

I loosened my grip, my blood quickly simmering. But then I would be no better than…

The door opened suddenly, and I was met with a pair of green eyes, open wide and rimmed with red. Okay, shorty, perfect time for consoling words. But I couldn’t find a damn thing in my head that might help Chris in any way.

“Hey,” I said, finally finding my voice. Some boyfriend I am, I thought with disdain.

Chris said no words, but moved aside in the doorway, granting me access to the room. His face was stony as I entered and shut the door behind me. I opened my mouth to speak, shoving my hands in my pockets insecurely. “Look, I know I –“

Hot, demanding lips pressed against mine, shutting off all my speech. Which was fine, as I didn’t know what I would have said after declaring it had been a long day and suggesting we retreat to a long, hot shower. Chris pushed me up against the door, effectively knocking the wind out of me. I grunted into his mouth as his tongue quickly probed everywhere, leaving me no option to protest – not that I ever would.

I had never seen Chris like this before: so dominating, so controlling of the situation. His kisses were needy, even desperate, and soon I found myself gasping for air. I raised my hands to touch his face, but he swatted them away, forcefully yet gently.

“Chris,” I said, as our lips finally parted just long enough for him to lift my sweater up over my head. He didn’t respond, not even with his eyes. One more swift movement, and we were both bare-chested, his shirt falling haphazardly to the floor. I tried to get his attention, louder this time. “Chris!”

“No talking.” Chris’s first words were like an order, his voice husky from lust and disuse. I looked into his eyes; there was a sense of loss there, a panicked sadness in pools of green. But the look was gone in an instant, as he ducked his head to nip hungrily at my neck. “I just…I need this tonight…”

His hands traveled lower to unbutton my pants, and I closed my eyes, giving myself over to him. There was a heaviness in my heart, a guilty conscience that I had no worries about the competition, about anything really, while Chris was not only on the brink of elimination, but in the scary, uncharted land of uncertainty, that by the morning he could discover if a friend were alive or dead.

Pulling my pants and boxers down in one movement; it was apparent there was another part of my body that was very ready to let Chris do what he will with me.

“Bed,” he whispered sharply, and before I knew it I was sprawled across the mattress, my bare legs hanging over the bedspread. My cock grew hard and stood at attention at the sight of Chris standing above me, his eyes hungry, as he made short work of his own jeans.

And in the next instant he was on top of me, out lips pressed together passionately, his hands trailing along my hips, my thighs. I moaned with pleasure, a deep rumbling from my gut, as he reached his hand between our bodies, grabbing at my length, wasting no time in stroking me to a frenzied, throbbing need for release. I squirmed underneath him, desiring more contact, more intimacy. _More, more,_ my mind kept pleading; I wasn’t even conscious that the words escaped my lips until Chris moved away from me on the bed, releasing his hold when I needed it most.

I looked up at the empty space that was once filled with Chris, a soft cry of upset on my lips. But then I saw him, standing not far from the bed, stroking himself roughly with a slippery sheen he had complained not a week earlier was “too warming in weird places.” He was back to the bed in a split second, wordless, yet utterly demanding.

Well, this was new.

He entered me without warning, and I allowed him full entrance, shutting my eyes tightly to the unfamiliar dull, burning pain that very quickly turned to pleasure. We had never done this before – never gone this far, never with Chris taking the aggressive lead. But I was determined to take a backseat in the passion tonight, to let Chris decide what he needed to exorcise what demons were plaguing him since we had heard the news. And besides, as Chris thrust deep, pressing on the sensitive nerves inside me, it wasn’t like I wasn’t getting anything out of the silent compromise.

It was over far quicker than either of us anticipated, his heavy, lustful panting in time with each thrust of his hips, my cries of pleasure crescendoing to a broken chant, no longer caring if the rest of the house heard me. He came inside of me, his entire body shuddering in orgasm, and I held him close to ride out me own, the warmth of my own pleasure coming out in spurts on my chest.

Chris collapsed beside me, his breath hot on my neck, half-lidded eyes focused on absolutely nothing at all. Still, he did not speak. It was unnerving, to say the least, that when under extreme stress and anguish my boyfriend wanted to fuck the living hell out of me, but I let it slide, not yet wanting to come down from the fuzzy euphoria that always followed orgasm.

It was a good five minutes before our breathing patterns returned to normal, and the silence Chris imposed upon us grew awkward. I shifted from my position on the bed, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “I should probably shower,” I mumbled, and moved to rise from the bed.

A strong arm wrapped around my torso; it was trembling slightly. “Don’t leave,” Chris said, his voice suddenly sounding so very small. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “Please.”

I let him pull me closer, his head fitting perfectly near the hollow of my throat. It was a position we had gotten very accustomed to over the past weeks, Chris many times falling asleep in my arms after we clumsily made love. But this felt different; a bit colder than before. The sadness I saw in Chris’s eyes was still there; the sex had done nothing to change that.

And then, it dawned on me. That’s why Chris needed the control tonight; that’s why he wanted to go farther than we ever had before. He wanted to escape in the raw passion, to forget about this terrifying week by burying the emotions, burying them deep within me. But when it was all over, it became apparent to him, that this wouldn’t take away what had happened. That you can lose yourself for that one shining moment, but in the next the reality all comes crashing back.

I felt a dampness on my shoulder. I didn’t want him to feel that crash; not yet.

Taking his chin in my hand, I lifted his head up, his eyes meeting mine. Instinctively he looked down, hoping to hide his reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. But I prodded him, a silent plea to look at me. And when he did, and a heartbreaking lone sob escaped his lips, I pressed them to mine, softly, and tried to dry the tear tracks with tender swipes of my hand.

Chris didn’t need my words that night. He just needed me.


End file.
